


Tales from the Brownstone

by Heiots



Category: Elementary (TV)
Genre: F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-03-25
Updated: 2014-03-25
Packaged: 2018-01-17 00:00:50
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 670
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1366549
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Heiots/pseuds/Heiots
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Strictly domestic affairs. Brownstone stories that alternate between Watson and Sherlock. Feel-good ficlets for kicks and giggles. Angst-free for my sanity.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tales from the Brownstone

_**In Which Sherlock Holmes Learns to Live with a Cat** _

**i.**

The diaphragm is quite the useful tool for voice projection, but his efforts to utilize it a second time are nullified when she strides into the study.

“You yelled?”

His finger jabs at the offensive object lying dormant on the couch, letting the evidence speak for itself.

"Right,” is the innocuous reply that emerges through parted lips. “It was what I was gonna discuss with you if you’d picked up my calls.”

“It’s a cat,” he utters, the three-letter word coated in disdain. “The Brownstone does not approve of its presence.”

"Look, I know you don’t like cats-”

"You point out the obvious.”

"Emily begged me, okay? She’s taken her family for a vacation, and there wasn’t anyone else to care for him. It’s only for a week.”

"Only a week, you say. One week may very well constitute an eternity when it comes to evil felines, Watson. by bringing it into the house, you’re compromising-”

"What? The safety of Clyde?” She scoffs. “It’s a kitten, Sherlock, not some ticking timebomb, and it’s only for one week.

With that, she sweeps past him and scoops up the snoozing kitten. Naturally, the creature gets to be blissfully unaware of the turmoil caused by its existence.

"I got used to the chickens,” she replies pointedly as she leaves the room.

 

**ii.**

He dreams of a rough tongue on his cheek that alternates with a loud purring in his ear. When he wakes, a whiskered face with two black orbs stare back at him. He bolts up on the couch, unintentionally causing the kitten to tumble from its perch on his chest. It lands on all four paws, looking somewhat aggrieved at the harsh treatment.

"It’s been grooming you for the past five minutes.”

An uncharacteristically self-satisfied Watson relaxes on a chair just a little to his left. Wispy curls of steam rises from the dark blue mug in her hands.

"Maybe it thinks you’re in need of a good cleaning,” she remarks, dark eyes twinkling in amusement.

The circumstances are less humourous from where he sits. He swipes the back of his hand against the scruff of his face, scowling at the feline. It pays him no attention, oblivious to the animosity. Washing its face clearly takes higher priority.

“I’ve got to run a couple of errands,” his housemate announces placidly, unfolding herself from the chair. “I should be back before noon. There’s coffee in the kitchen.” She gathers the contented feline up, and when it butts its furry head against her face, he grimaces.

"Oh, just so we’re clear, Sherlock, no traumatizing, no dissecting, no going overboard with Pavlov’s classical conditioning. This lil’ guy should be in one piece when I get back: physically, emotionally, mentally, whatever.”

He barely manages to conceal his disappointment. “Who said I was going to anyway,” he croaks at her retreating back.

"You‘re a detective, Sherlock,” she replies as she ascends the stairs. “You tell me.”

 

**iii.**

Angus has agony carved in its porcelain features. The phrenology bust just might shatter a second time at the sounds that plague the Brownstone. Inwardly grousing about terrible inconveniences, he plunks the pliers down on the table and stalks to the stairway where the source of his misery paces at the top. Resigned to what must be done, he tromps up the steps and secures the crying creature in a grip consisting of thumbs and forefingers. They make an uneventful journey back down, where he sets it carefully on the ground. Perhaps now his work shall be accomplished without further interruptions.

When she returns, the kitten is curled up on the table under the lamp’s light, right next to the timebomb he is dismantling.

"I see you made a friend.”

"I’ve simply ceased conjuring various methods to silence the creature, Watson. It is but a temporary truce. I fail to see how that qualifies us as friends.”

He doesn’t miss the smile that flickers across her face.

 

**End**


End file.
